


Keep The Helmet On

by mx_vertiginous



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Armor Kink, F/M, Femdom, Masks, Military Kink, No Lube, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mx_vertiginous/pseuds/mx_vertiginous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little Captain Phasma/Stormtrooper femdom one-shot.  She seems like the kind of lady who likes to keep her office immaculate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep The Helmet On

“I am disappointed.” Phasma’s voice echoed out from behind her chromed helmet. “Tell me FN-2187, why do you think I might be disappointed.” The stormtrooper stood at attention, stripped of all but his mask in front of the gleaming glass of her spotless desk.

“Sir, I did not complete my mission.”

Her voice dropped to a purr, “We have had to discuss this before, your inability to follow direction.” Standing up from behind the desk, the dim light glinting on her armor, her timbre went harsh. “It is unseemly. It ill fits your potential. And reflects poorly on my training. I will not have reckless stormtroopers under my command.” Eight-Seven stared down at his feet, mask drooping in shame. He had no words to explain what he had done. “Look up,” Phasma growled, and the soldier snapped to attention. “I am to send you for reconditioning. But before I do, I want to make it absolutely clear where your loyalties lie.”

She removed her cape and draped it on the bare desk, running a warm metal finger down his chest. “With me.”

Wrapping one hand around his neck, she circled behind him. “I want you to remember.” Her other hand snaked around his hip, dragging gleaming metal across dark flesh. “While they are ensuring your _future_ compliance.” A metal finger paused above the crack of his ass. “That you take orders from me.”

The metal finger was smooth as it entered him, too smooth to resist, but then he tightened around the first joint and gave a pained whine, leaning into the hand at his throat, as she forced the second phalange in. Eight Seven choked back a curse, tears soaking the inside of his helmet. He couldn’t show anything but obedience. “Yes, sir.” Gripping the back of his neck, she pushed him forward over the desk and curled the metal finger into the tender spot inside him, and against his will his cock sprung to attention. “I take orders from you, sir.”

“Good man.” Her finger stroked in and out gently until he was trembling. “Stroke your cock,” she ordered. The stormtrooper obeyed, terrified. When he came he knew he risked showing weakness, any crack in his façade a potential disappointment. But his commanding officer was relentless, firm metal digit caressing him until he had no other option.

“Please sir, may I come?” His voice trembled he hoped she couldn’t hear the tears behind his words.

“You may,” the mask purred in his ear, and he let go, the edge of the desk cutting into his hips, the metal hand tightening around his throat. The oxygen deprivation mixing with climax to leave him reeling and dizzy. He cried out, cum spilling all over the floor, stumbling to the side and slipping in it. They both knew he had failed.

Phasma let the man up, tossed him to the ground. Replacing her cape, she resumed the seat at the he’d of her formidably clean desk.

“Please remove your mask.” The stormtrooper complied. “Now lick up that mess you made of my floor. I want it gleaming, like my armour.”


End file.
